


haunted by the ghost of you

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ‘maybe she was scared,so scared that her whole life she would never be truly loved.not completely.not for really who she was.’ghost whisperer AU.





	1. never let me go

It was dark.

It was **so** dark.

She had known something was wrong when she had repeatedly called him, and he didn’t answer a single call. Not to mention the warning she had received from one of _her_ ghosts as her best friend would so kindly put it.

Calling Jordan without giving him much of an explanation was a little harder. What was she supposed to say, really?

_Hey, you need to get to this address, quickly, Stiles is there and he’s in danger._

That probably wouldn’t have worked. Instead, she opted to tell him that he had gone back to the lake house where their friends’ wedding was supposed to have taken place, letting him know that he was alone with the groom – who also so happened to be a criminal and quite possibly mentally unstable. She had **begged** him to rush there, not to lose any time and just get there before it was too late – and she thanked her husband’s great police work that got him all those many allies.

Somehow, she still managed to get there faster, but the other detective was there two seconds later, preventing her from rushing in the house and get herself in danger in the process.

“Don’t do anything reckless, Lydia–”

“Jordan–”

“I got this.”

Darkness enveloped them, and she struggled to see anything happening in the house from her spot on the street, but she did catch how the other cop hid himself behind one of the trees that surrounded them, gun in hand, one of his fingers resting beside the trigger in case it needed to be pulled.

By the time she did manage to understand anything that was happening behind those closed doors, the images were all too blurry, her eyes capturing shadows that moved frantically, and she only noticed that two males were struggling to get a hold of a weapon when Jordan barely stepped out of his hiding place to get a better look as well.

It only occurred to her then that none of them knew which of those men was Stiles, and when it seemed that they had finally stopped fighting for the shotgun, one of them getting a hold of it, the male outside with her fully stepped away from the tree and pulled the trigger, effectively shooting the one currently holding the weapon.

Her breath hitched, her ears were still ringing from the gun being fired and glass shattering, and she waited, watching with fear in her eyes as the figure stumbled backwards, toward the window, before crumbling to his knees, his bloody shoulder coming to view before _her husband_ looked out with a pained expression, searching for whoever had wounded him.

“ _No_!”

She let out a deafening shout, tears welling up in her eyes when he finally fell to the floor and out of view, no longer fighting to keep himself together.

“ _Stiles_!”

She ran inside the house, throwing the door open, before rushing to his side, not even bothering to make sure whether the other guy had retrieved the gun, even if their lives depended on it. She hoped that Jordan would be able to keep the rest of the situation under control – as much as he could, really, until the rest of his squad arrived to the scene – since he had done plenty, and even if she knew, rationally, that he hadn’t meant to harm Stiles, she still found herself blaming everyone, in an attempt not to blame herself for not coming or noticing the danger faster.

Somehow, an ambulance didn’t take long arriving to the house either, and she assumed it had been because she had practically scared the other detective to get there as fast as possible, making it seem like it was a life or death situation – little had she known that it would, indeed, end up like that.

“Stiles, baby,” Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, swallowing the lump in her throat when neither her voice or touch brought him out of his unconsciousness. “...please, sweetie, not like this.”

One of the medics pushed her out of the way once they entered the house and took in the situation, and she didn’t even struggle, – much to her own surprise, since she figured she’d put up a fight – her fear coursing through her veins, making her blood run cold, at the mere prospect of losing the love of her life. That didn’t stop her from observing every little thing they did to her husband though, watching as they tried to stop the bleeding and immediately attached him to wires that she **knew** which purpose they had, yet was too terrified to even think, and once he was lying on the stretcher, she rapidly crawled back to his side.

“Stilinski, can you hear me?” The paramedic that had successfully managed to pull her away spoke up, pressing one of his large hands gently against his covered wound. “It’s Danny, can you please open your eyes for me? I’m here with Lydia–”

Those warm, full of concern brown eyes turned to her for a second, and she could feel as tears spilled down her cheeks, no matter how hard she tried to hold them back.

“Please, wake up, man. I do recall you hating when your wife cried, no matter how beautiful she looked. So how about you open those eyes for us, if you can? Can you hear me?”

“Stiles, please wake up.” She pleaded with him, one of her hands trailing down to find one of his and gripping tightly onto it. “Please, **please** wake up, baby.”

His eyes fluttered, and relief washed over her immediately, even if it was clear how much he struggled to fully open them to look up at her – a smile instantly gracing his lips once he did catch a glimpse of her, although blurry.

“Lyds–”

“I’m here.”

“…hey.”

“I’m so sorry,” She choked out, her fingers tightening around his whilst she ran her free hand through his dark hair once more. “…oh my god, I’m so sorry. I should’ve – I should’ve seen the signs, I should’ve noticed them sooner – I should’ve gotten here faster, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

Blinking rapidly, she felt her tears falling down her cheeks faster as she took in the faint, slow movement of his head when he shook it, brushing her apologies aside whilst he husked out words that she didn’t deserve – comfort that she barely managed to accept at that moment.

“It’s okay.” He continued with plenty of effort, his voice quiet and hoarse. “There’s no pain.”

“You don’t have to be brave.”

“No, Lyds, I – there’s really no pain. I’m in shock, honey, I don’t feel any pain.”

“Stiles–”

A choked sob escaped her lips upon hearing those words, and she considered struggling against the paramedics when they prepared to lift him and wheel him out of the house to the emergency vehicle, so they could take him to the hospital before he lost any more blood.

“I’m okay, honey–” The rest of his words died in his throat when they finally did lift him, turning into a low, pained groan as his eyes shot open. “…ugh, guys, it doesn’t mean I didn’t feel that.”

She quickly followed them out, and finally noticed what had happened to the groom – who was currently handcuffed and being pushed inside a police car. Approaching the ambulance, she let a faint smile form across her plump lips when he peeked an eye open and smirked goofily at her, too.

“I’m sorry about our date.”

“It’s okay.”

“Rain check?”

He was pushed in the ambulance then, but his eyes didn’t lose their contact with hers, and if that overwhelming sensation of dread wasn’t currently affecting every single one of her senses, she’d have probably laughed at how he waited for a confirmation.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

And from then on, it was all a blur.

Going to the hospital.

Watching as they wheeled him towards the nearest, empty yet prepared O.R. whilst she was left behind with his belongings.

Sitting in the waiting room with his wedding ring on her hand, eyeing it throughout the entire time he was being operated on, still fearing the worst.

Allison holding her other hand, fingers interlaced with hers.

Scott eventually coming in as well, holding three different kind of drinks – coffee, tea and hot chocolate because he wasn’t sure what she was in the mood for.

“ _He was supposed to be out of surgery 40 minutes ago.”_

_“Mrs. Martin?”_

...

_“His surgery was successful, and he’s stable. If you’d like, I can walk you to his room.”_

Her world had stopped then, and she was only able to focus on the fact he was – alive and stable, which was all that mattered to her. She had allowed herself to be guided towards his room where he was still unconscious, and recovering, and she had no recollection of what happened afterwards, up until the moment she drifted off into a light slumber in that uncomfortable chair by his side.

Still, she could somewhat remember the doctor telling her he was still under observation for the night, to prevent any risks of infection, and because of their need to keep an eye out for an embolism that was a high possibility with gunshot wounds. _Deep down, she was aware of all that, but she had still let herself fall asleep by his side with the single thought that her ghost had crossed over, Hunter had been arrested, and her husband was going to be okay_.

She had paced back and forth in the room, (im)patiently waiting for those soft eyes to open, but had eventually tired herself out, proceeding to fall asleep against her will. By the time she woke up again, those amber coloured eyes she had been eager to see looking back at her were, indeed, watching her carefully, and a lazy, happy smile instantly found its way to her features.

“You’re awake.”

A deep, heavy sigh escaped his lips, and she instantly furrowed her brows, wondering if he was in pain – and if so, why wasn’t he lying in bed like he was supposed to, and therefore preventing his pain to get any worse?

“You’re more beautiful every time I see you.”

“I love you.”

This time, a pained, small laugh slid past his lips, – sounding more like a huff of breath – and she dropped her smile instantly.

“Lyds, there’s a thing that happened, um,”

“Stiles, let me get you someone, okay?”

“...it’s, um, called an embolism–”

“Let me get you a doctor–”

She **knew** what that meant.

She **knew** what that technical term meant, she was quite familiar with it.

“No, please – please, don’t go, don’t – don’t look at me, Lyds, please… I want you to remember me this way, please.”

“Stiles, what? Let me–” Her eyes drifted to the bed, and back at him, tears instantly welling up in her eyes because she also knew what **that** meant.

The continued beeping sound echoed off the walls, and a tiny, soft gasp escaped her lips when reality finally dawned on her. She tried to keep looking back at the bed, but her husband’s ghost stepped in her line of sight each time, before the room was flooded with doctors that attempted to bring him back.

_No pulse._

_Start compressions._

Slowly, and full of fear, Lydia slipped out of her seat and stood on her feet instead, stepping away from the bed to give the medical team enough space to give her husband the help he needed, yet still not far enough that she couldn’t see what was happening.

“I’ll always love you, Lydia.”

“ _No_.”

“Always.”

“ _No_! Please–” She cried out, eyes drifting back and forth from Stiles’ ghost to his lifeless body. “...please, not you, please – Stiles, please, not you–”

A heartbreaking, loud sob broke free when he **disappeared** , leaving her alone with his unmoving body and a medical team that, eventually, gave up on trying to bring him back. She pushed her way through them, and collapsed on the bed next to him, covering his body with her own as it shook with violent sobs, the sounds that left her lips growing louder when she buried her face in the crook of his neck and found no pulse.

 _No signs of life_.

“ _Please_ ,”

Comforting, but at the same time, suffocating – familiar, nonetheless – hands trailed up her back when she refused to leave his body, and she was thankful that her best friend didn’t even try to pull her away, no matter how much it was hurting and killing her being so close, yet so far.

“... _please,_ not you.”


	2. we all need someone to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘you were alone, left out in the cold,
> 
> clinging to the ruin of your broken home.
> 
> you were falling and lonely, cry out,
> 
> will you fix me up? will you show me hope?
> 
> the end of the day and we're helpless,
> 
> can you keep me close? can you love me most?’

“What is this place?”

He was pulled away from the room, from his body, from **her** , and had been transported to a dimension he was not familiar with. Or so he thought, because when he took a step forward, consequently exiting the house to stand on the porch, he could somewhat see his mother standing by the lake.

“Where am I?”

“Your father–”

Fearfully, he approached the woman, and although he had been eager to see her for so long, he frankly couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate the moment – where he saw his mother for the first time, again, after such a long time.

“...he’d bring us here, talking about family time, wanting to get you to fishing.”

“Mom–”

“I remember the last time we came here.” Her smile was warm, motherly, when she turned to face him, and he instantly returned it. Even if he was scared, even if he was _dying_ to get back to his wife, which was – quite a poor choice of words. “It was after – well, you know. You refused to get on the boat, your father didn’t find the courage to push it, to convince you to try it like you always did, because – the last thing you needed after losing your mother was to go fishing.”

“He meant well.”

“He always meant well.”

“Mom, I need–”

“I wanted to get back to you, too, sweetheart. But that wasn’t possible, just like it’s not possible for you to get back to Lydia now. I waited for you, so we could cross over together.”

“I can’t, no–”

Stiles knitted his brows in concentration, and his eyes fluttered shut because –

...he could have sworn he just heard her.

“You don’t understand, she needs me.”

“Son–”

There was no way he was going to stay and leave his wife, he just – couldn’t.

So, instead of listening to his mother, or staying with her a little while longer – no matter how much he had missed her – he stormed back inside the house, frowning when he found himself standing in the middle of a long hall, numerous doors across it.

The first door he opened abruptly showed him one of his best memories, a smile instantly forming on his features as he leaned against the doorframe and watched with great sadness as images unfolded in front of him.

_“Shoot it!”_

_His eyes found her beautiful hazel ones through the immense crowd that had shot up from their seats to clap excitedly after him scoring goal after goal, and he adjusted his helmet with a goofy smile on his face, loving the look of pride in her face and that genuine, excited grin across her lips, and he promised himself that – he would do anything just to see her looking at him like that again_.

Reluctantly, he closed the door, and released a shuddering breath, wishing he could go back to that night where he was alive, and beyond prepared for the long, beautiful journey that awaited him, with her.

He swallowed thickly, and stepped away from that door, turning to another as his long, shaky fingers curled around the knob and he opened it, feeling as tears welled up in his eyes at another one of his memories that he found himself watching, his smile never faltering even if it hurt – like hell.

He always did think that the pain was supposed to end once they were dead, but that strong, breathtaking woman had showed him the otherwise.

_“It’s okay, though, we’re onto something.”_

_“Hey, Lydia, you’ve been right every time something like this has happened. Okay? So, don’t start doubting yourself now.”_

_“...I got you in trouble.”_

He watched himself uncurling the red string from around her forefinger, swallowing the lump in his throat upon taking in their closeness, the way she looked at him when he wasn’t noticing, how she continuously doubted herself and her gift because no one had ever bothered believing her, and – like many times before, he found himself wondering how that was possible. How could someone not believe that wonderful woman, losing her in the process?

_“And look, if you wanted to... I’d go back to that school right now and search all night just to prove it.”_

_Her smile_ –

God, her smile. He needed to see that smile again.

Turning away, without even bothering closing the door, he ran towards another, opening it and –

 _“I, uh, I read once that holding your breath could stop a panic attack. So, when I kissed you_ –”

He shut it loudly, repeating the same process with another door, and letting out a frustrated, pained groan upon finding another memory.

Yet –

...this time, it was their wedding day, and as he watched himself and the love of his life – _he playfully dipped her after a turn and the bride, **his** bride, released a happy laugh before curling into him once more as the couple went back to move slightly to the beat of the song_ – a melancholic smile made its way to his features.

“Lyds?” He breathed, and – “...baby?”

Finally, he opened the one door that brought him back to her, gulping when his surroundings started to melt away and he found himself standing on the doorway to the kitchen of their house, finding his wife sitting at the kitchen island with tired, sorrowful eyes, remnants of tears on her cheeks and a soft pout on her lips.

Allison was leaning against the counter, and Chris – her son, named after his grandfather – moved towards where the strawberry blonde woman was sitting, placing a hot cup of tea in front of her.

“Chris, honey, why don’t you go upstairs and run her a bath?”

“No, it’s fine – don’t worry about that.”

Her voice sounded so broken, so – empty.

He hated it.

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen him.” She continued then, and he stepped forward, tilting his head in confusion with a soft frown. “It’s been two days, he hasn’t come to me.”

“Maybe – I don’t know, maybe he crossed over.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“But wouldn’t he have said goodbye?”

Their best friend sent a glare in her son’s direction, clearly trying to show him that was **not** going to help. That was **not** the kind of thing she needed to hear at that moment.

“I mean, he wouldn’t just leave, would he? It’s Stiles.”

He could see the brunette’s throat bobbing, her jaw tightening, whilst she attempted to control herself not to growl at her son, and despite the current situation, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks for pointing that out.”

“Lydia, honey, I’m right here.”

It was pointless, she didn’t – wouldn’t react to the sound of his voice, almost as if he wasn’t actually there and, technically, he wasn’t but for her –

...he was supposed to be there for her. She was supposed to see him.

“I’m right here with you.”

“I haven’t seen a ghost since Stiles died.”

His breath hitched, and he desperately looked around, hoping that somehow, miraculously, anyone would be able to see him – even Allison or Christopher that didn’t have his wife’s gift.

“Honey, we have to set a date for the funeral.”

“I can’t–”

A sob bubbled out of her mouth, and he swallowed thickly, beginning to feel how heavy and overwhelming his tears were and wondering why ghosts crying was even a possible scenario.

“It’s too final, I just – I can’t.”

A thumping sound stole his attention, and he twirled on his heels, instantly heading towards the dining room where he found another ghost, obviously trying to attract his wife’s attention.

He tried to step towards it, but the feeling of Lydia coming closer to him, even without seeing him, pulled him out of his haze, causing him to turn back around to face her once again, and his frown deepened when he realised that she thought **that** ghost was him.

“No, Lyds – it’s not me.”

“Stiles?”

“It’s not me, baby, –” He glanced over his shoulder, and growled out, “...stop it!”

...and just like that, the other ghost was gone. And so was her attention.

Being a ghost when his wife couldn’t communicate with him sucked. Well, being a ghost sucked, period, but the fact Lydia couldn’t see him only made it worse.

Somehow, and he was still trying to decide whether it was a good thing or not, he also got easily distracted. He managed to spend the entire night by her side, watching as she drifted in and out of consciousness frequently, unable to stop herself from crying the whole time, and he hated that he couldn’t do anything to comfort her – he couldn’t even wipe her tears away anymore, and that was his job. It was his job to comfort her, make her feel better, make her happy.

But once morning came, his attention was everywhere – on what she did, on what she avoided, on who came to visit her and who didn’t, if she would eat or take care of herself somehow or not, and it only stopped when his father stepped through that door.

Then, he was no longer distracted.

The first thing Noah focused on after he closed the door behind him, completely unaware of his son’s presence, was his badge and wedding ring that were neatly placed on top of the table by the door. His fingers grazed both objects, and Stiles couldn’t help it –

He choked out, “...dad!” trying to touch his cheek, trying to stroke his tears away, only to be pulled back to the lake house where her mother waited for him.

“I–”

“I know it hurts, honey.”

“She can’t see me, why – why can’t she see me?”

“She can’t see through her grief, Stiles. It’s too personal for her, it has blocked her gift – once she finds some joy again, it’ll come back.”

“How do I – how do I do that?”

“You’re not the one who has to do that now, sweetie, not anymore.”

He **knew** that his mother meant well, too, but it was all so devastating, so emotional – he felt suffocated. So, he pulled back, stepping backwards and away from her once again, even as she tried to approach him.

“No!”

“Mischief–”

The nickname caused him to freeze, and he looked desperately up at her, shaking his head rapidly as tears spilled down his cheeks.

“I can’t leave them – I can’t leave **her**. Not like this. She needs closure.”

It caught him off guard watching as his mother nodded, not pushing him either, not trying to convince him to cross over, just like his father had refused to push him to step on a boat, on that very place. It made him feel peaceful, relaxed, for the first time ever since he found out he was dead. She wasn't pressuring him to move on and let her go.

 “I miss you so much.” His attention was brought back to his wife’s voice, focusing on the water below him as her face came to view. “Everything hurts.”

In a blink of an eye, he was standing on the porch next to her again, his mother gone, just her presence, her scent, and her voice surrounding him – and again, he wished she could see him.

“You’re in everything I do, I can’t – I don’t know how to keep going without you.” Emotion betrayed her, even when she tried to keep herself together, and she was, once again, releasing heartbreaking sobs.

“I didn’t want to leave.” He muttered, standing right behind her as his hand grazed her shoulder, but even then, it didn’t bring her back to him. “I don’t want to be without you.”

“If I could just get a sign–”

The rest of her words died in her throat when the front door of the house was thrown open, and his father stepped out, a cup of tea in his hand before he told her, softly, that she needed some rest, handing her the hot drink when she didn’t put up a fight and found her way back inside, a soft, broken thank you on her lips.

He followed her in, too, not losing sight of her as she climbed upstairs, and he went right after her, sitting by the window when she crawled onto their bed after placing the cup of tea on the nightstand next to her. Her eyes were briefly stuck to his pillow, his side of the bed, before she forced herself to lay on her side, facing away from where he would usually sleep, and he could feel his heart **breaking** at that.

He hated her pain.

He hated to be the cause of it.

He wanted to take it all away.

But still, he followed her everywhere. He followed her when the other ghost made another appearance and interrupted her sleep, followed her when she rushed downstairs, wondering if it was him, and repeatedly muttered that no, that wasn’t him, that he was right there, right next to her, with her – and he wasn’t the one breaking all their things.

...and once she finally got some sleep, he followed her to the funeral home.

There were so **many** people there, people that he refused to leave behind, and despite his father being right there, as well, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman he loved, couldn’t stop his heart from breaking every time a tear slid down her cheek, and she clutched tighter to his picture.

Scott left his seat, and stood in front of all those people eventually, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times as words failed him, before his gaze was drawn to his picture.

“Sorry, I’m, uh–” His best friend seemed to be fighting with all his might against the force of tears that just kept coming, and he wished that he could comfort him, too. “I told myself I would – could do this, but – I lost a brother. And that pain doesn’t even compare to the one of losing a son,” Scott’s eyes found Noah, before they settled on Lydia who was staring down at her lap, biting her lower lip to keep any sounds from coming out. “...a husband, the love of your life. And I know, **I know** I’m supposed to be talking about loss – this giant, devastating loss that will change our lives severely, but the only thing that keeps coming to me is his smile. His happiness, his will to live, his ability to fight against anything that threatened to break him, and how he would do it so effortlessly, as if none of that actually affected him. And, god – I knew him **so** well, and I knew he hurt, too, but he hid it so well. He was just one of those people that would make your days better with a simple smile, and I admired him for that – I admired his strength.”

The male paused, took a quick glance around him and pulled out his phone.

“He wouldn’t have wanted this,” He stated firmly while searching for an upbeat song, and the only thing Stiles noticed was how his wife actually **laughed** at it, as if agreeing with that statement. “He left us so much, he gave us so much. He would have probably mocked me for crying at his funeral, but he would have hated this. We’re better, because we got to know him.”

As soon as those words left his lips, a song filled the room, and one by one, people started to get up – to actually dance at his funeral – and he was dumbfounded. Allison reluctantly let herself be guided out of her seat, and only fully relaxed when the grieving wife nodded with a weak smile, but he couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t moving out of her seat yet. Probably wouldn’t eventually, either.

Plenty of people in uniforms, that he recognised from work, moved to the beat of the song, never letting go of his picture where he was waving and smiling, and he _laughed_. There was no way he could deny that his best friend was right – he was loving that, **that** was all he wanted. The song paused for a mere second, and his eyes rapidly swept over the room, watching with a raised eyebrow for what was to come before everyone started to dance again, and an oddly happier laugh escaped his lips.

Then, her eyes found his from the other side of the room.

She was **finally** seeing him.

Her hands dropped from where they were tucking the picture against her chest, and he smiled, tilting his head sideways and instantly moving to where she was standing.

For the first time since his spirit left his body, the woman had actually stopped crying, and relief washed over him. Her arms curled around his neck, and he frowned, eyeing them carefully as he lifted his hands in the air, leaving them uselessly by her sides, before he finally brought himself to wrap himself around her, too. Dead or not, he was always going to take pleasure in their closeness.

“I’m here.”

“I know.”

Slowly, they swayed to the beat of the song.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.”


	3. take me back to the night we met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘when the night was full of terrors
> 
> and your eyes were filled with tears
> 
> when you had not touched me yet
> 
> take me back to the night we met.’

The sound of rain pouring outside filled the odd quiet in the house, and suddenly the darkness that surrounded her didn’t feel as terrifying anymore. Darkness had never really scared her, until she was forced to face it all on her own again, after so long.

Shortly after the funeral – which she had spent with Stiles looking over her shoulder – Allison had awkwardly asked her if she had been dancing alone back at the funeral home, arms hanging in the air, and a dopey smile on her face. As carefully as she could, she told her that her husband hadn’t crossed over yet, he was **there** , with them, and after pleading with her not to tell Scott just yet because that would mean having to prepare everyone for a goodbye which she wasn’t prepared for herself, she went home with him.

“People just danced at your funeral.” She spoke quietly, sitting by the window where she watched the rain fall, before catching a movement out of her eye and looking back at him. “ **I** danced at your funeral.”

His hand hung awkwardly next to her head, and that was when she realised he was trying to tuck a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, causing her to do it herself when he gave up with a deep, exasperated sigh.

“It was actually quite a nice thing to watch.”

“I thought you had gone into the light already.”

“No, you just–” Another sigh escaped his lips, but this time, they quirked up in a small, tender smile, as if he knew that his following words were going to affect her somehow. “You just couldn’t see me through your grief, Lyds.”

“You were giving me signs–”

“No, it wasn’t me.” He bit the inside of his cheek, and she knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth to continue. “You have another ghost, honey. It – it’s an angry teenager, she might be dangerous.”

“None of that matters now.”

“Lyds–”

“I’m so empty without you.”

“No, I–” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wished more than anything at that moment to be able to reach out and **feel** him, but she knew that was impossible – just like she knew whatever was coming out of his mouth afterwards was just as impossible. “I’m here, Lydia, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t say that–” She whispered, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t stay, Stiles. You have to – you need to cross over, it’s what comes next.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” His voice was nothing but a broken whisper, and it was killing her not being able to comfort him.

“That’s just the way things are.”

“I don’t believe in the crossing over part.” Unconsciously, she put distance between them as soon as those words left his lips, and a frown formed on her already distressed features. “Not that it doesn’t happen, I just – I just don’t believe it has to happen.”

She shot up from where she was sitting, padding towards the centre of the room whilst she played nervously with her hands.

It was all so tempting, agreeing with him even though that was not how she saw things, accepting the possibility of keeping him trapped there – a place where he doesn’t belong to anymore – but she couldn’t do that.

That was not who she was. Even if it hurt **so** much the thought of living without him.

“If you don’t believe it, that’s like saying you don’t believe in me.” Her words were cautious, slow, well-pondered – better than telling him he **had** to cross over.

“Of course I do, Lyds. I just don’t think that in some cases that’s the best option. I don’t want to leave you.”

“You **have** to cross over.” She honestly couldn’t believe she was trying to get rid of her husband’s ghost. It pained her more than anything watching as his face broke into a series of emotions, settling on deep sadness and the least bit of disappointment, before he released a heavy, shuddering breath. “I can’t keep you here, Stiles. It’s not healthy, you don’t – you don’t belong here anymore.”

“I belong with you, Lydia. I have to stay.”

“I know it feels that way.” Her voice broke, and tears spilled down her cheeks, causing her to wonder if she was ever going to be able to stop crying. “You think I want you to go? Because I don’t. I’d stay in this house forever if it meant being with you, but that can’t happen. You can’t stay.”

“Look, I don’t want you to give up on the idea of having a life without me, I–”

“This is my purpose. This is why I have this gift, to cross souls over and help them give their next step. You know that better than anyone else, Stiles. It’s what’s best for you, so I can’t–”

Before she had the chance to finish that sentence, he was standing behind her, his fingers hovering slightly next to her lips and although she couldn’t quite feel his touch, she could still feel his energy.

“Shh, I know. Lydia, I know. I just want to be with you now.”

She finally nodded, curling up against him as much as she could as his fingers threaded through her hair, alerting her of his touch though it was faint.

 

...

 

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

His father stood by the door, finally ready to leave their house after Lydia told him she was okay to be alone, and he wasn’t going to lie, it pained him watching him go.

“Yeah, I–” Her eyes swept over the room, and a slow, deep breath slid past her lips as she shrugged. “I need to get used to the silence.”

“I’m sure it won’t be easy.” Noah answered, though there wasn’t malice in his tone. “He sure knew how to make his presence known.”

“Yeah...” A soft, actually genuine, chuckle escaped her plump lips as she nodded and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. “Somehow, I think he still does.”

Stiles’ lips formed a faint smile as his eyes seemed to be stuck to his father, in his best way of a goodbye. “Don’t tell me I’m here, he wouldn’t be able to let go. Not after mom. Tell him I’d want this. For everyone to continue their lives, to be happy – especially him.”

“You know Stiles…” She continued, her eyes never leaving her father-in-law either. “This is what he’d have wanted. For us to find our way to continue on living and be happy.”

“Yeah, somehow, I think I know that.”

“He’d have wanted you to enjoy your life, Noah, even if it’s hard–”

“…even if it hurts.” He continued to cite the words she wanted him to say. “Even if it seems like the end of the world. Losing mom was hard–”

“Losing Claudia was hard, and I know just how hard it was now.”

Finally, his amber coloured eyes moved to his wife, watching as hers filled with tears all over again, and her arms curled tighter around herself ever so slightly, seeking for the comfort only he could offer.

“…but he would have wanted you to be happy.”

“I don’t want to lose you, you’ve become like a daughter to me.” Noah confessed quietly, and this time, the tears that ran down her cheeks were for complete different reasons.

He observed them both as they fell into an embrace, before his attention was pulled away by the same ghost that had been giving his wife weird signs. Before he could stop himself, he was chasing after the young girl, yelling out for her before he was transferred to an unfamiliar room.

“Who are you?” He tried again, his voice slightly louder than before – not that it mattered, since no one but her could listen to him. “What do you want with my wife?”

“What are you doing?” The girl yelled, and he, then, realised he was standing behind a male that was sitting on a sofa, a bottle of something he could only assume was alcohol in his hand. “I’m right here! Why can’t you see me?”

An object flew across the room and he concluded that whoever that ghost was, she was definitely a lot stronger than him and he couldn’t bear the thought of her hurting Lydia.

 

...

 

His head tilted sideways, eyeing the carton of eggs lying on the kitchen island as he mustered all the strength he had left and attempted to move it, growling when it did nothing.

It was almost as if it was mocking him.

He had been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed his wife walking in the house, only feeling her presence when she entered the kitchen – not close to him at all, but to the other side of it, as far away as she could.

“I just wanted to make you an omelette.”

She forced out a laugh, and he sighed, trying to step towards only to see her folding her arms over her chest almost defensively.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember what you told me earlier about your dad? About him not being able to let go?”

He nodded, fearing whatever came next. He was so scared of the thought of leaving her, of having to cross over.

“You’re the one who can’t let go. And you have to, Stiles, because this isn’t okay. For any of us.”

“Honey–”

“It’s not fair, for me to keep you here.” She continued, turning her back to him as she began to walk away, and he inevitably followed.

“You’re not keeping me here, I’m keeping myself here.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“Why can’t we be together?”

“Because we’re not together, not in the real world. I wish, **so** much, for it to be true.” She spoke brokenly, facing him again with a soft pout on her lips and heavy tears in her eyes. “I wish I could stay locked up in this house forever, just to be with you. But I can’t – we can’t. You have to go.”

“Lydia–”

“You don’t understand, Stiles, I need you to go. I need you to leave.”

“My journey is with you. It **is** you. It’s always been this way.” He stepped forward, wincing when she turned his back to him once again to wipe her tears. “I can’t let it go just because I’m dead.”

“That’s exactly why you have to let it go.” Her posture straightened up, he noticed, and her tone turned slightly colder – but he knew better. He **knew** she didn’t mean any of it, he **knew** how much she wanted him to stay, too. “I don’t want you to come here anymore.”

Those words felt like a slap in the face, a sharp knife to the heart – the kind of pain you weren’t supposed to feel when you were dead.

“It just hurts both of us and it’s wrong, so if you love me, you’ll just leave.”

He could do nothing but comply, because he did love her. And if she was in that much pain because of him, he’d do everything it took to make her feel better.

 

...

 

This time, when he tried to use what was left of his energy, he actually managed to do some damage.

Isaac’s gift was recent, but he had been hanging out with his wife enough to know a thing or two, so he was, undoubtedly, his best option. Of course, Stiles could only imagine how pissed the other male was going to be after he turned his radio on at such a high volume, after he made his lights flicker on and off, or after he turned his TV on, too.

Once his friend was finally awake and rushing towards the TV and radio to shut them off, he finally stopped trying to mess with him, leaving only the lights on.

“Can I just say that, no matter what else, messing with people like this is just the greatest?”

“You scared the shit outta me!”

Unlike his wife, Isaac couldn’t actually see him. His gift only allowed him to hear ghosts, so it was definitely amusing seeing his terrified expression as he turned everything off and didn’t see **him** standing right there, with a mischievous grin on his lips.

“…comes with the territory.”

“I feel like I’m close to a heart-attack ever since I met you people!”

“I’m sorry Isaac, I was just trying to get your attention somehow. There’s so much I still have to learn about this ghost thing.”

“What are you doing here, Stiles? Not that I’m glad to hear you, but–” He headed towards his fridge to grab a bottle of water whilst the ghost merely watched. “…shouldn’t you be with your wife?”

“Look, she doesn’t want to see me, she just wants me to cross over.”

“Seriously? I thought you guys had the perfect marriage. What, you die and that’s enough to kick you to the curb? That’s weird.”

An exasperated sigh escaped Stiles’ lips as he locked his hands behind his back, shaking his head whilst he processed those words.

“Sorry, that was maybe a little insensitive.”

“You think? Look, I don’t need advice on how to deal with my marriage, I just need your help.”

“So, do you or don’t you need my help?”

“Lydia has a ghost.”

“Yeah, that’s not new, man.”

“It’s a toxic ghost, Isaac, and I’m scared it’s going to hurt her. I need you to deal with her.”

“Her, who? Lydia?”

“No, the ghost.” He replied as if it was obvious, and then observed as his friend wandered around the room, waving his hands around whilst he looked everywhere but where he was standing.

“No offence, but don’t you think you’re in a better position than I am to deal with that?”

They both paused.

Stiles – because he was trying too hard not to roll his eyes at him.

…and Isaac because he only noticed then what his words meant.

“Sorry, insensitive again.”

“It’s fine, it’s just – she’s scared of me, that’s why I’m coming to you.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re not coming to me because you missed me?”

“Nevermind, this was a stupid idea.”

“No, wait – I’ll help.”

 

...

 

It turns out that the ghost that was haunting Lydia was Jordan’s stepdaughter – which, apparently, was part of the reason why she was so terrified of him, and why she refused to communicate with him when they were both, _well_ , dead.

She had died not that long ago, and he had gotten back to work earlier than supposed – which, unfortunately, resulted in him being killed.

Standing on his porch at that moment whilst his wife explained that her ghost was still around, he noticed the amount of pain and guilt the other male carried with him, and it brought him to realise that he really didn’t blame the other detective for shooting him at all.

It wasn’t hatred that kept him around.

_As if he didn’t know that already. There was only one thing that kept him around._

“She was all that I had.” Jordan spoke between sobs, and he couldn’t help but see how devastated the male still was. “I wasn’t ready to go back to work, I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have been on duty. That way your husband would still be alive.”

His eyes drifted back to the girl as she explained how she had hidden everything from him, how none of it had been his fault, how he couldn’t have noticed it – because all she was focused on was how she hoped that everyone would love her more if she was thin, and beautiful like in the magazines.

“I just wanted her back…” He continued in a soft, hushed tone, and Lydia sat beside him. “I wanted my girl back.”

“She knows that you were always there for her.”

His wife started, causing him to pour all his attention on her.

“…even if she didn’t realise it. Even when she thought you couldn’t see her.”

As that last sentence left her lips, her hazel eyes found his amber ones, and that soft, small smile of pride he always held on his face when she did what only she could do faded away.

…and he wondered if she was still talking to Jordan, or if she was delivering **him** some sort of a goodbye.

“But why? Why would she do that to herself?”

He could somewhat hear those faint words, but he was no longer paying attention to that at all.

“Maybe she was scared. So scared that her whole life she would never be truly loved. Not completely. Not for really who she was.” Her voice was thick with emotion, and her lip trembled slightly as she held back tears. And her eyes – those beautiful eyes never left his. “Maybe now she sees that she was loved in that way. And that it was real.”

Her smile –

…god, her smile was so beautiful, but why did it hurt so much seeing it?

Why did it pained him **so** much when it was all he wanted to see?

“And once you've had that kind of love, it never goes away.”

He didn’t notice **he** was crying until he watched those beautiful cheeks stained with her tears again, even as she held a faint smile on her face.

“It just gets stronger. And it means that she can move on. And so can **you**.”

No.

She couldn’t possible mean –

No, she was still trying to get him to cross over.

Unable to acknowledge that, since he knew very well what that meant, he swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke up hoarsely, trying to control those overwhelming emotions he wished he didn’t have. Not anymore. Not when he was a ghost. “Tell him.”

“Stiles is here too.” For the first time during that entire moment, she finally looked over at the detective, a genuine smile gracing her features – almost like she was letting go. Letting go of that deep hatred she had never felt before in her life and had found herself feeling so when her husband was killed. “He doesn’t blame you.”

And, somehow, that made him feel so proud – because it sounded a lot like a _I don’t blame you either_.

The girl finally got up, and headed towards the light, glancing over her shoulder to ask, “…are you coming?” and although his gaze was drawn to his wife, he didn’t need to look at her for some sort of permission.

“Not quite yet.”

He allowed his wife to finish that conversation, to let his co-worker know that his stepdaughter had finally gone into the light, and then followed her to her car.

Silence surrounded them as she drove towards the town square, before he managed to speak up without fearing her telling him to leave.

“It wasn’t your fault either.”

“What?”

“What happened to me – it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t because of what you can do.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know – I don’t think we can know. I don’t think it matters.”

“Then I don’t want to know anything. It’d just be a lot easier.”

He **hated** how much she continued to hurt. Hated how he was right there, on the passenger seat next to her, and yet there seemed to be a large, painful distance between them. Hated how he had always been the one to soothe her pain and wasn’t able to do so anymore. Hated that he was **dead**.

“Lydia, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Glancing forward, he took in their surroundings, finally noticing the reason why they were stuck in traffic, realising there had been an accident – and before he allowed himself to evaporate, he whispered, “Just remember that, okay? Remember I love you.”

He watched as two paramedics tried to revive a man lying across the stretcher, waiting for them to officially declare him dead before glancing up at his wife one last time, and stepping in his body.

 

...

 

She couldn’t believe it.

Her eyes were stuck to her husband’s ghost as he stood so close to that male, and she wondered why he was still there – why he refused to go into the light.

And why of all places, that was where he was drawn to.

It hurt, she wasn’t going to lie – the simple thought of never seeing the love of her life again, having to move on and continue her life without the one thing that made it so much better, and bearable, but she also couldn’t stand the thought of keeping him there. Of trapping him to a place that wasn’t his anymore.

For half a second, her gaze drifted to the injured male’s spirit, watching as he instantly crossed over before Stiles took his place, and stepped in his body.

“Stiles, no! No!”

Pushing her way through people, she stopped right next to him as he took as much air as he could in his lungs and began to cough, completely ignoring the shock that the medics were feeling upon seeing how their dead victim had come back to life.

“Stiles?”

He struggled with the mask, trying to push it off his face while propping himself up on one of his elbows.

“Stiles, it’s you – you’re back!”

Her brows knitted in confusion when he eyed her slowly, almost suspiciously, before small words were whispered, “…do I know you?” and her heart broke all over again.

 

...

 

_“Hey, Lydia, what’s wrong?”_

_She ignored him, not wanting anyone to see her cry – much less someone she barely knew._

_He knocked on the window of her car once more, exasperatedly so, before gently speaking up again, “Lydia, come on…”_

_“Just go away.”_

_“What’s wrong?” He tried again._

_“Look, I don’t need anyone seeing me cry!” She whimpered, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand._

_“Oh, come on, Lydia…” He paused, and for a second, she really thought he was going to leave, but then a sigh was falling out of his lips, and he spoke again, the same gentle, loving tone in his voice. “You shouldn’t care if people see you cry, alright? Especially you.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because I think you look really beautiful when you cry.”_

_“You’re going to think I’m crazy…”_

 

...

 

…and yet he didn’t. He **never** thought she was crazy. What was she supposed to do without him?


	4. how can I protect you in this crazy world?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing’s right, nothing’s wrong
> 
> don’t care less it’s all the same
> 
> love is blind, love is real
> 
> don’t you know that love is what you feel.

She didn’t understand why it was such a surprise seeing him do such a crazy thing. It wasn’t the first time he had recklessly put himself and everything he believed in jeopardy for her, so it shouldn’t be that surprising watching him trying to continue to fight for her, for them, even as a dead man.

The only thing she wished was for it to stop hurting that badly.

Even as she followed the ambulance to the hospital, that transported a man she had no connection with whatsoever other than the fact her husband’s spirit had stepped into him, she still felt that deep, overwhelming pain of having lost the person she loved the most in the whole world.

…even if there was the slightest bit of hope that she never thought could exist.

She never thought she could get her husband back – that was not something she believed in. She believed in the light, in crossing over, in having to live without those you love when life is that cruel.

And as she sat by his side, waiting for him to wake up again – and hopefully remembering who she was this time, remembering who _he_ was – she wondered if it was indeed all worth it. If it was worth coming back to her with a new identity, with a new life, when not even she knew who this Mike Stewart was, other than the fact he had been in a motorcycle accident.

…and that he was actually her husband, no longer the man he was before the crash – because that man had walked into the light, just as Stiles stepped in his body.

Her hand slowly, almost fearfully, covered his on top of the blankets, and she took in his peaceful features. His beautiful jaw, sweet plump lips, that adorable nose, and his closed eyelids that once fluttered open would reveal those gorgeous amber orbs she was so enamoured with – what killed her the most was knowing that she was the only one capable of seeing _him_ as _him_. Other people would see light brown hair, vibrant green eyes, and dimples she did _not_ recognise.

But he did that _for_ her. He willingly chose a life he did not know to continue being a part of hers.

“I know that you did this to stay with me,” She whispered softly, unconsciously tightening her grip around the male’s hand. “…I can’t be mad at that. But you could have gone into the light.”

She paused, tears welling up in her eyes, almost as if the mere thought of that pained her more than anything in the world.

“I’d have missed you, but at least I’d have known where you are. Can you hear me in there, Stiles? _Please_ , give me a sign if you can hear me.”

Weak fingers tightened around her small ones, and she was instantly drawn to their joined hands, letting a faint smile grace her lips before a soft, tired sigh stole back her attention and she watched as the male in bed opened his eyes.

“Hey…”

His voice was still _his_ voice, at least to her, but she knew that it wasn’t him. Not yet. And wondering where he was, what might have happened to him when he did that crazy, amazing thing, was beginning to suck what was left of life out of her.

“Hey.” She replied softly, waiting for another reaction – somewhat knowing that it wasn’t going to be what she wished it was.

“What the hell happened to me?”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember you…”

She knew that she shouldn’t be hopeful because that didn’t mean anything. But still, she couldn’t stop that sensation of relief from washing over her, no matter how much a tiny voice at the back of her mind screamed at her to fight it.

She should have fought it.

“…but that’s because you’re here every time I wake up.”

His warm hand slid out of her own, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to scold herself for the fact she continued to allow hope to cloud her emotions when things were so blurry – so lost.

“And that’s about it. I mean, I barely know you but you’re here more than anybody else I know.” He paused, and she waited, eagerly, still hoping, “…or, _knew_.”

“Do you want to go through your things again? Your doctor says that –”

“…right, maybe I’ll remember something.”

Grabbing his wallet and phone, she forced herself to quickly hand them over, telling herself to be rational and not fight what _must_ happen. But that still didn’t soothe her crushing fear that he might remember the _wrong_ life. The one that didn’t have her, or their past – their memories.

That way she would _never_ get him back.

“How sick do you have to be not to remember your own face?” He muttered, staring at his reflection on the back of his phone.

“You’re not sick, there’s no brain damage, you’re just temporarily –”

She couldn’t even bring herself to finish that sentence.

Gone. He was temporarily gone.

 

 

...

 

 

“If he’s new in town, and his family doesn’t live here, who do people think Lydia is?”

“He’s an architect so she’s been telling people that she hired him to help with her garage.”

“And people bought that?” Allison wondered, brow raised, as Isaac sheepishly shrugged a single shoulder.

“It’s not like he remembers to tell people the otherwise.”

A sigh escaped the brunette’s lips, and she stopped by the window viewing the hospital room where Mike – or, supposedly, Stiles – was, biting down on her lower lip as her gaze landed on her best friend.

“How certain are we that this isn’t grief talking?”

“What do you mean?”

The male’s confusion was evident, and she couldn’t blame him for trusting Lydia’s instinct, not when she had been nothing but a mentor to him, someone that helped him through his gift and the scary, overwhelming knowledge of a whole new world – one that most people believed not to exist. Frankly, she would have instantly trusted her best friend’s words as well if she wasn’t terrified that, maybe, all there was to it was grief and Stiles probably did cross over.

His death had taken a huge toll on them and robbed them of the happiness they knew. It was only understandable if the woman was clinging to every possible piece of him out there, refusing to move on.

“She thinks that his soul just _magically_ went into this guy?”

Isaac cringed at her choice of words, but still explained, “…she says that Mike’s spirit went into the light, and Stiles took its place.”

“And how reliable is that? Can we trust a grieving wife?”

“This grieving wife is your best friend who you’ve known for years, Ally. Don’t we owe her that? After everything she’s gone through, after everything we’ve _seen_?”

“I’m not saying I don’t trust her gift, Isaac.” She sighed, exasperated, running her fingers through tousled dark curls. “All I’m thinking is that it’d kill me seeing my best friend having to mourn the loss of the love of her life all over again when she realises this isn’t _real_.”

“But it is!” Fighting in hushed tones as a gesture of respect for every sick soul in that building was proving to be hard, he thought. “It _is_ real, Allison. Have a little faith, it’s Lydia – she was the one that pushed him to go into the light in the first place. What could she possibly win by living this fantasy when she _knows_ , better than anyone else, how much more tragic that was going to be?”

“I want to believe that, but,” She paused, sighing deeply when the brown-haired male looked at her, desperately trying to get her to believe. “…if it was Scott, I’d have clung to every piece of him, too. I just want to make sure that this isn’t what she’s doing.”

“There’s no buts.” He said with a tone of finality, turning to face the strawberry blonde in the room, as she stood from her seat by the bed, and headed towards the exit where they were. “You either believe it or you don’t.”

They both fell into silence just as Lydia stepped out of the room, waiting for any kind of reaction from her as she closed the door behind her and stepped forward to where they were standing, eyeing the male in the room through the window as well before her soft voice replaced the quietness that surrounded them.

“I know what you’re thinking.” It was as if she was reading their minds, and Allison found herself swallowing thickly, scared of the possibility of her best friend pushing them away when she needed them most. “I’d probably think it too. But I know what I see when I look at him. And I know what you see – different hair, nose, eyes. It’s not Stiles. But at the day of the accident, I saw his ghost step into Mike’s body, and ever since that happened, he hasn’t appeared to me. He’s in there somewhere.” She shrugged, turning away. “He just has to be.”

Both friends watched her walk away from the room, wondering whether it was even appropriate to follow her after what she said and _didn’t_ say – like needing their help.

“How long are we going to pretend this is okay?”

“This isn’t okay.” He stated, ready to follow. “But it’s the reality, so we’re going to respect it.”

 

 

 

...

 

 

Later that day, they stood at that same place, minus Allison, whilst Stiles – Mike – received a visit. Turns out when Lydia hurriedly left the hospital earlier, it was with the purpose of finding someone Mike was supposed to meet, wanting to help him in any way she could.

That person was his sister, and Isaac was having a very hard time trying not to let Allison’s words affect him, her fears suddenly becoming his own as he imagined how heartbroken Lydia would be if that man remembered his sister, his other life, consequently losing Stiles.

“Am I a terrible person?” She whispered, lower lip trembling as she fought back tears for the thousanth time that day.

“What? Why?”

“I’m relieved that he didn’t recognise her, because if he did – then he wouldn’t be Stiles.”

“So, there is that possibility?”

The brunette’s words echoed in his mind, and he suddenly, really started to fear that was one of stages of grief – Lydia style.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, pulling away from the window. “I really don’t know. He had a life before Stiles, and although he went into the light, meaning his memories are gone, there’s still the possibility of him accepting his old life, and not Stiles’.”

“How?”

“By surrounding himself with his supposed family.”

Her eyes didn’t leave the image in front of them – the male talking to his sister – and he realised that, maybe, it was time for them to step back for a bit.

“You mentioned packing Stiles’ things?”

“Yeah, I–” Her head bobbed rapidly, and she didn’t even think twice as she left the room, listening to Isaac’s footsteps as he chased after her. “I should go do that. Allison and Christopher will be there soon.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Thanks.”

 

 

...

 

 

“Can you give me that box? The one that says sports?”

Chris turned towards the rest of the boxes piled up in the corner of the living room at the sound of the female’s voice, searching for the one labelled sports before he grabbed it and peeked inside.

There were plenty of things in it – such as his old lacrosse jersey, a few signed baseball balls, and a basketball ball. The one they used every Monday, their agreement to help him get better at the sport since his father had a tremendous struggle trying to get a ball through the hoop.

“You okay?” She asked, softly, and he was pulled out of his reverie, quickly handing the box to her.

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged, moving towards the things he was previously packing away. “How’s the guy doing? The one in the hospital?”

Just like Isaac, the teen didn’t even struggle believing Lydia and what she said was happening. He blamed that on the relationship he had the pleasure of witnessing between his father and Stiles. He admired them both, and admired especially the role Scott allowed his best friend to have in his son’s life – almost as if he was a second father to him. That alone brought him to have faith in any scenario that meant he was still alive.

“He died in an accident. Then, he – was revived when Stiles’ spirit stepped into his body. His name was Mike – is Mike.”

“Is he remembering stuff yet?”

“I don’t know, he seems to remember me a little, but then there’s other times–”

She paused, eyeing the kid carefully. And he wasn’t stupid, he knew that was her trying not to take the small bit of hope he had left.

“What?”

“Well, all of a sudden, he likes different foods, and he remembers different scents–”

“That’s–” He interrupted eagerly, regretting the minute he did before he realised that Lydia was looking for an explanation he was ready to give. But a part of him didn’t want to get her hopes up only to crush them later. “…probably muscle memory. Some things you just can’t forget.”

Her mouth opened slightly, but before she had the chance to say anything, his mother appeared after grabbing the rest of his things from upstairs. Allison frowned at first but was quick to notice she had walked in on something.

“You don’t have to stop on my account.”

“Actually,” Lydia said instead, returning her attention to the boxes once more. “…you guys have done so much, I think I’m good here, so…”

“Lydia–”

“You can go, that’s okay.”

Before any of them had the opportunity to interject, she stepped out of the room, causing them to grab those boxes and load them up in their car instead of pushing her to deal with their presence when, clearly, she had too much in her mind.

Allison agreed to get the last one from the house, so her son stepped in the car and grabbed the basketball ball from the sports box, holding it in his lap as he eyed it carefully.

“I didn’t know you had practice today.” She said after entering the car as well, taking in her boy as he held the ball tightly to his chest. “I thought it was on Mondays.”

“It’s Stiles’. Do you think it’s okay if I take it instead of donating it?”

“Yeah, of course, honey.” A single, stubborn tear slid down his cheek, and he chewed on his lower lip to hold back his sobs. But still, she knew him too well not to notice, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. “I know you miss him, Chris. Your dad told me you’d play with him practically every weekend.”

“I love that we have each other, mom, but–”

“He was like a second father to you. And I want you to know that your dad and I loved that about you two. It’s okay to be sad, baby, we all are.”

“I know.”

“We just... all deal with it in different ways.”

“Yeah.”

 

 

...

 

 

Mike was released from the hospital the following day – with the help of his parents.

It was as if she was reminded of the situation all over again, when she walked into that empty hospital room, no sign or evidence that the male had been there in the first place and was told that the patient’s parents had picked him up and taken him home. Parents – another reminder that man wasn’t her husband, because he, unfortunately, had lost a parent at a very young age and it was only him and his dad.

That still didn’t stop her from going after them.

Stiles didn’t give up either, that was the reason why they were in that situation in the first place.

But it only hurt more, finding out that Mike’s family was planning on taking him home, away from Beacon Hills, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Because, really, what could she do? Supposedly, she was the person that hired him to do a job, there was no deeper, meaningful connection there that could possibly tie them together, which meant she would have to let him go.

…except she couldn’t exactly do that.

So, she had to find a way to get him to stay without seeming a little crazy – even so, she wouldn’t mind being a little crazy.

“Putting together a memory book?”

She hadn’t even noticed Allison walking in the store, glancing over her shoulder to see as her best friend placed down a cup of coffee for her and eyed the wedding pictures in her hands.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Is it for you…” The brunette paused, and she didn’t need to look at her to know that she was trying not to hurt her feelings with her following words. “…or for him?”

Him as in her husband, who she didn’t believe was her husband.

Not that she could blame her closest friend for her extra care when it came to her.

“Both. I was hoping it’d help Stiles – Mike, with his memory.”

“Oh.”

“I know you think I’m crazy.”

Finally, she faced her best friend, placing down their memories as she went straight to the point, tired of avoiding it in fear of what the other woman would think.

“But I’m not.”

“No, that’s not what I–”

Allison didn’t have the chance to finish that sentence – that weak way of hers to explain her lack of faith – since Mike entered the shop, interrupting their conversation and catching their attention.

“Hi – I, uh, hope you don’t mind me being here. The hospital gave me the address to your store–”

“No, it’s fine.” She didn’t have to look at the brunette to know she was probably as confused as she was.

“I was hoping we could have lunch together? If you’re not busy, of course. I–” He paused again, staring shamelessly at Allison with furrowed eyebrows. “…wait, I know you.”

“You do?”

“Really?”

Both women replied at the same time, exchanging a glance before the male sighed disappointedly. “You came to the hospital, didn’t you?”

“Um, yeah, but – I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Allison.”

“I’m Mike,” He held lunch bags in one hand, and stretched out the other to shake Allison’s. “…that’s what they tell me. Look,” Turning to Lydia, he shook the bags and shrugged nervously. “I don’t know much about memory loss, but I’m assuming I’m only getting it back once I relax and – you’re pretty much the only person I feel safe with, and my family is about to drive themselves, _and me_ , insane so I figured–”

“Go!” Her friend chimed in before she could say anything. “I’ll watch over the store.”

“I got sandwiches.” He said with a goofy smile, and for a second there, it was almost as if he was back.

 

 

...

 

 

_“Why stop at one? I mean, we could – we could have a house full of kids.”_

_They were sitting on a park bench, her legs thrown over his as she snuggled into his chest before those words filled her ears and she found herself leaning back to look at him with a raised eyebrow._

_“It’d be fun raising them!” Stiles nodded eagerly, and she sensed a joke coming. His hands ran down her bare arms, filling her with warmth, and she couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips even if she tried. “…it’d be even more fun making them!”_

_An unrestrained, hearty laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head in amusement. His eyes twinkled with happiness as he watched her, leaning forward to take her in his arms once again whilst his lips curled in that gorgeous, loving smile he had reserved only for her._

_“Don’t push your luck, mister.”_

_She went willingly, falling in his embrace with a bright grin._

 

 

...

 

 

“I lost you, didn’t I?” His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she gave a weak smile, not wanting to make him feel bad.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just – thinking about something.”

“A memory, huh? Show-off.”

She let out what she hoped didn’t seem like a forced chuckle and stared straight ahead at the kids playing around.

Not wanting to get lost in old, heart-wrenching memories again, she decided to play along, try and make some sort of conversation that wouldn’t make him feel pressured into remembering anything.

“Does anything look familiar to you?”

“No,” He sighed sadly. “…not really. But maybe that’s for the best.”

“How come?”

“Well, the way my family was going at it, it just seems as if my old life – it might be better to not remember at all. Maybe I should just…start over.”

“Maybe your old life wasn’t that bad.” Not his, however. But it’s not like she could tell him that wasn’t his family, or his old life – that way, she was probably going to lose him for good.

“Do you know something I don’t?” He joked, but clearly regretted it when she didn’t even react. “Look, all I know is that I actually feel at peace right now. I know I had problems in my life, is it wrong not to want them back?”

That certainly didn’t make _her_ feel at peace. But she had promised herself not to pressure him, so she wasn’t about to change her mind then.

“I think you should do – whatever feels right. Trust your instincts.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting a soft smile spread across his features. “I still have no idea why you’re being so nice to me. I must have done a spectacular job in that garage.”

That same unrestrained, hearty laugh that she only shared with her husband escaped her lips, and he paused, awestruck.

“That–” Her eyes found his, and upon noticing the seriousness in his tone, she let her smile fall. That was the most serious he had been ever since they sat down on that same bench – the one she and Stiles had talked about kids. “…sounded so beautiful. So – familiar.”

For a second, her lips were forming that genuine, happy smile, irresistible dimples popping out, before it faltered all over again when he continued to merely watch her.

“What do you say…” She really needed to learn how to stop feeling so anxious, so hopeful around him. “…I hit you in the head, so you can forget all about your worries, and then we’ll enjoy this glorious, oblivious afternoon _together_?”

“Yeah…” She murmured, nodding in agreement, wishing for it to be real. “…that sounds good.”

 

 

...

 

 

“The lease is up.”

That was his reply after she asked what happened to his apartment, why he was even considering moving back home with his parents.

She knew it wasn’t fair, clinging so hard to him, practically begging for him not to go, when she barely knew him, and his parents were only doing what any family would do for their children. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help seeing the love of her life in him, the person she was trying so hard to save – to get back.

She couldn’t give up.

“…there isn’t much keeping me here.”

God, she sensed those words coming, she really did. But it still didn’t stop it from hurting _that_ much.

“What about–” She hated how desperate she sounded, but she had to try. For her, for _Stiles_. “…finishing my garage? It’s not much, but if you remember how to replace a glass, maybe–”

“That’s very generous of you, but it won’t cover my rent.”

“There’s plumbing – and a fridge. You could live there while you do the work. You know, until you just – figure out your next move.”

It was in moments like those – when he looked at her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered, that _truly_ helped her believe her husband was still in there, somewhere. That small, wonderstruck smile, the way he regarded her as if she was an angel.

“Maybe I found something to keep me here.”

And it was only a matter of time until his – Mike’s – parents would come to her, demanding for a reason to why she was keeping their son there when there was nothing, not a single reason why, that made sense. It was only a matter of time until she found herself giving a lame excuse to why she was stealing their son.

Just like it was a matter of time until he would find out about the death of her husband, unaware of the actual reason why she kept trying to get closer, to be a constant presence in his life.

“Do you believe in the afterlife?”

“Heaven or ghosts?”

“Both.” They both paused at that before she mustered as much courage to continue. “What about reincarnation?”

 _She was not supposed to tell him about it just yet_.

“Like respect cows because they might be your ancestors?” He shrugged innocently, and it took a lot of effort not to laugh, delightedly, at how adorable and just Stiles-y that was.

“Sort of. My husband just died, and you had–”

“Wait, you’re not going to tell me I’m your husband reincarnated, because you’re the only sane person I’ve encountered since I woke up.”

“No–” She forced herself to reply, unable to show a single trace of amusement as he did upon having her reassure him. “…that’s not – I just thought, maybe, we had more in common than we realise. I thought you might understand.”

“Oh–” And just like that, he was no longer amused either. “I’m sorry.”

Brushing that aside seemed easier than what it actually felt. Unable to deal with that any longer, she lamely explained that she had to go to the store, and for the first time, she willingly walked away from him.

“Lydia, honey, please – talk to me. I’m your friend, and I love you.”

She had lost count of the amount of times Allison had pleaded with her to talk to her from the second she walked in the store, with tear-stained cheeks, and a broken heart.

“I just–” She swallowed a sob, glancing over at her friend. “I couldn’t lie, anymore, so I started to tell Mike the truth.”

That sadness she had felt upon being nearly mocked was replaced with a sensation of warmth, and love, as she remembered how Stiles had reacted to her gift, her lips instantly forming a loving smile.

“Stiles – god, he was so open-minded. He never doubted a thing I told him, but Mike – you should have seen his face.”

“I’m _so_ sorry. I know this is probably the worst pain you’ve _ever_ felt…”

“What do I do?”

“You get angry. You curse the universe. You break things. It’s the next stage after denial.”

An awkward, revolting silence fell around them, and Lydia’s eyes welled up with tears all over again.

 _Denial_. That was what her best friend thought she was going through.

“Denial?” She practically growled, hoping with all her might that Allison would be smart enough not to continue that, not to push that on her.

“The stages of grief.”

“So, this isn’t real.”

“Unfortunately, no. You’re not helping Mike, and you’re _definitely_ not helping yourself.”

“The _last_ conscious decision my _husband_ made was to risk **everything** just to be with me! I am not going to turn my back on that.”

“That’s great – believe he’s out there, somewhere–”

“You’re not listening to me! I know it’s bizarre, it’s even hard for me to believe, but it’s what happened. Stiles is not just out there, somewhere, he’s _here_! In this man’s body!”

“Lydia–”

“No, he took a chance, _out of love_! And out of loyalty for the one person who meant everything to him, even though he knows it doesn’t make any sense. **That** is what love is! In case you’re unsure.”

“So, unless I accept this – the mere thought of my best friend living a fantasy that might break her, we can’t be friends?”

She couldn’t even answer. None of them could really say anything. And with that, Allison grabbed what belonged to her, and walked out the door.

 

 

...

 

 

“Hey,” The brunette murmured into the device, eyeing the empty court from her place inside her car. “…where are you?”

“At the café, doing homework. Why?” Her son replied, and she frowned. It was Monday – which meant basketball practice.

“Isn’t your practice on Mondays?” A sigh was heard from the other end of the line, and she had to hold back a eyeroll at it.

“Okay – promise you won’t get mad?”

“That’s the fastest way to get me mad, Chris.”

“Mom, there’s no practice on Mondays.”

“What?”

“I – used to meet Stiles there to practice. I didn’t tell you because I figured you’d make me work at the store–”

“Chris, I wish–”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad, I just–” Something caught her eye, causing her to stop talking, and as she stepped out of the car and closer to the court, she finally noticed _who_ was standing on the court, a basketball ball in his hands. “I’ll call you back.”

“Mom–”

“Mike?” She spoke up after ending the call without so much as an explanation, approaching the male meanwhile.

“Hey – Allison, right?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Promise not to laugh?” She nodded and waited for him to continue. “I have _no_ idea. I was driving out of town after telling Lydia that – maybe I should just find my own way while I can’t get my memory back, and I just…I don’t know what brought me here. I just got this feeling that I was supposed to be somewhere. Somewhere important.”

That was, perhaps, the _one_ moment where she shouldn’t be at a loss for words, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk no matter how much she wanted to. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she was still trying to process the fact that Lydia wasn’t mourning – it really was Stiles.

“Oh my god,” She husked, blinking tears away. “It really is you.”

“What?”

“I – uh, I think you could be right. I think you **are** supposed to be somewhere.”

“Where?” He whispered, clearly desperate, and before she lost her chance, she attempted to convince him to accept her friend’s offer.

Her friend, who was hugging Stiles’ uniform’s shirt to her chest when she arrived at her house, seemingly empty and less alive without _him_ there. But the good thing was – he _was_ there, he just needed to be found.

“If you never forgive me, I’ll understand, but I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing when this whole thing is ready to blow away.” She spoke hurriedly after sneaking in the house and startling the strawberry blonde female in the process.

“What? What thing? What are you talking about?”

“You were right, it’s – it’s _really_ him. He would practice with Chris on Mondays, and I had no idea which – rude – but, anyway, he was there, _at the court_ , waiting for my son, because he felt as if there was somewhere he was supposed to be. You and Stiles – your future together, your whole–”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m telling you, you’re right! He’s outside!”

“Who?”

“Stiles,” Allison paused, confused, almost regretful when Lydia pouted her lips. “Mike – Stiles, whatever the hell his name is. But I convinced him to come back, and talk to you, so get your ass outside and do something!”

“Why did you–”

“Because I finally understood.”

“What?”

“That I was wrong, okay? And we’ll talk about this endlessly, but right now you have to go outside, and make sure Stiles doesn’t get back on that road and go out of town.”

“You keep calling him Stiles.” She muttered tearfully, smiling when Allison released a noise similar to half a laugh, and half a sob.

“That’s who he is, isn’t he? So, go!”

“I got my best friend back.” The strawberry blonde choked out, instantly throwing herself in her friend’s arms before she was roughly pulled away and her jacket was removed. “What are you doing?”

“There’s a stain on it. You need to look presentable. That’s what I learned from you, anyway – got any lip gloss?”

“If it’s Stiles,” She shrugged, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t need lip gloss.”

Warm, gentle hands fell on her shoulders, and she stared at her best friend as she whispered. “Do you know how lucky you are? You’re getting a second shot at your one true love. Now, get out of here, you weirdo!”

Her head bobbed as she nodded rapidly, and then left the house in only a tank-top and jeans, rolling her eyes at the woman’s need to make her look presentable – but she couldn’t really blame her. She walked towards her driveway, approaching the male that was currently outside, and leaning against a pick-up truck, before she was standing in front of him with a warm smile.

“You’re back.”

“Yeah, I…I’m sorry about earlier, I got a little overdramatic.”

“It’s okay.”

“I just, I don’t want to replace your husband.” He shrugged sheepishly, still looking at her like she was the most valuable thing on earth.

“I think that’s for me to decide, don’t you agree?”

“So, the offer still stands?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“Help me move all this to your garage?”

“Now you’re asking too much, don’t you agree?” She teased but headed towards the back of the truck to help him anyway, watching out of the corner of her eye as Allison walked out of the house to do the same thing.

“So–” He started, picking a guitar up and a suitcase before following them towards the garage. “My mom called, apparently someone convinced my sister to go back home after all this time?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“They told me you talked some sense into them… how did you do that?”

“I have a few talents.” Her smile widened as she stopped and turned to face him, taking in the way his brow rose in amusement.

“A few talents? That’s what you’re going to leave me with? Alright, no questions.”


	5. these nights are long, you've lost the will to fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘is anybody out there?
> 
> can you lead me to the light?
> 
> is anybody out there?
> 
> tell me it'll all be alright?’

“Hey, you’re up early.” His voice reached her ears, and she started slightly, twirling on her heels to face Mike as he stepped away from the garage. _Her_ garage.

“Uh, yeah–” Subtly, her eyes swept over his outfit, and she quickly realised that they must have had the same idea after waking up. “…I thought a morning jog would be a good way to start the day.”

Before she lost herself in him, which had been happening a lot for the past week since he accepted to move in to her garage, Lydia walked towards her car where it was parked in the driveway, opening the door to grab her earbuds from the glove compartment. She wasn’t that distracted that she didn’t hear him follow her, reluctantly so, as if closing the distance between them would be a mistake – and it’s not that she thought of it as a mistake, but it was definitely getting harder being around him without doing something stupid. It seemed that he felt the same way but was far too respectful to even try anything – which she was tremendously thankful for, and it was hard for her not to see Stiles in that little detail, too.

After all, he wasn’t the only man who was respectful in the whole world for sure, but he was certainly the only one that had respected _her_.

“Do you want to–” Again, she found herself turning around to look at him, watching with a raised eyebrow as he mimicked running movements with his arms.

“Well, I don’t know–”

“Right, that was stupid of me to ask, you probably could use some time alone. Maybe that was even something you did with your husband, right?”

“That’s not–” She wasn’t quite certain if she didn’t get to finish her sentence because he interrupted her, or because she was caught off guard by the sudden mention of her husband.

“I honestly don’t mean to replace him, so I shouldn’t have asked, I don’t want to be in your way.”

“He actually worked weird hours, and whenever he had the chance, he liked to sleep in a lot.”

Unconsciously, she turned her back on him again, and began to walk towards the quiet street, almost, _clearly_ , trying to avoid the subject of her dead husband whose spirit was in **that** man’s body. The last time she had attempted to talk about him, or about anything related to the topic, Mike’s reaction hadn’t been at all appealing, and so she decided that perhaps it was best if she avoided it as much as she could.

“You’re not in my way at all.” She found herself murmuring at last, eyeing him over her shoulder when she noticed he was mumbling to himself.

“Oh, god – nice work, Mike. Well, um–” She faced him again, swallowing thickly when she noticed there was practically no space between them and she was close enough to count his eyelashes – one of the things she loved _so_ much about him, and she couldn’t help but be grateful that she was able to see _him_ , and not another man. Even if it wasn’t the case with everyone else. “Have a nice morning.”

“Right. You too.”

“I’ll go this way.”

“I’ll go that way.”

 

 

...

 

 

“It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“No, it’s worse.” Lydia sighed softly, ignoring how amusing her best friend seemed to think that whole thing was, and moved around the shop, labelling new items as she found them around. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt like this.”

“Well, it’s been a while.”

“I just – why couldn’t I tell him his legs were bigger than mine, and so I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up?”

“Well–”

“And as if that wasn’t enough, I can see _everything_. I haven’t been able to eat my breakfast peacefully in days, not when I can see everything he’s doing in the garage through my kitchen window. He shaves _every_ morning, _shirtless_ , like – put a shirt on, is that too much to ask?”

“Probably–” The brunette tried again, slowly raising an eyebrow when the woman who was currently acting like a lovesick fool barely allowed her to speak.

“And he has no problems whatsoever coming in the house whenever he feels like it, which I wouldn’t be bothered with at all if most of the time I wasn’t stopping myself from throwing myself at him!”

“Do you still wear that ridiculously tempting sleepwear?” She paused at Allison’s words, furrowing her brows as she placed something clearly expensive, and inevitably breakable on the counter.

“They’re not tempting!”

“Which means you still wear them?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe that’s why he comes in the house whenever he feels like it.”

Her best friend’s smirk was filthy behind the rim of her mug, and her eyes narrowed in her direction, silently wondering how after everything that had happened in their lives, her child being born included, the brunette hadn’t changed a bit.

“Moving on…”

“It’s only been a week, Lyds, you’d think you’d have a bit of self-restraint.”

“I would, if he would stop saying things like feeling an odd connection to me, or how things only feel right when he’s around me. I don’t know what to do – I don’t even know what to say!”

“Anything is better than ‘ _hey, you’re the love of my life in a new body, and every time I see you, my knees go weak_ ’.”

“Ugh,” A dopey smile made its way to her face, and she mumbled huskily. “…my knees, my legs, I’m constantly at a loss for words, my voice gets shaky, I’m a giggly mess... I’m a total dork!”

She wasn’t even quite finished with her sentence when she waved her arms around dramatically, consequently bumping a hand against a tall, luxurious vase which fell to the floor beside her and broke.

“Oh, no!” Stepping away from the mess, her wavy, strawberry-blonde hair got stuck in one of the chandeliers, causing her to stop immediately and curse under her breath as she tried to get herself free.

“Christ, honey – are you okay?”

Allison rounded the counter to get to her, and before she had the chance to say something to defend herself and maybe explain she wasn’t a complete mess – even if it seemed like she was, the bell at the door chimed, indicating a newcomer's presence. She looked up and swallowed thickly upon noticing Mike struggling to get in the store as he carried a large box in his arms.

“Is that Stiles?” The brunette whispered in her ear right as she got her free and away from the chandelier, or anything else that she might break.

“Hey, Mike!” She spoke a little too loudly, too excitedly, trying to cover up the fact her best friend had called him _Stiles_ , which he was, but was obviously unaware of.

“How are you doing, Mike?”

“I’m okay, how are you, Allison?”

She glared at the brunette, somewhat knowing she was about to say something inappropriate and wanting to stop her from doing so. It was very easy to sometimes forget the male didn’t exactly remember anything yet.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Listen, I’ve had this box in my truck for a while for you, but every time I see you, I just – forget.” Allison deliberately rolled her eyes at that, which none of the other two people in the store seemed to notice. “It’s not like I don’t forget everything else in my life–” Another eye-roll. “Like the name of my dog–”

“You have a dog?” Lydia asked softly, and the brunette had to physically restrain herself not to come up with an excellent quip at that.

_Naïve_.

“No! But, I mean, that’s what I think about when I wake up, you know?”

“Oh, dear.” Allison murmured, earning a deadly glare.

“Anyway, this is all yours – to keep, or sell, or toss…”

“These are all beautiful.” She said with a smile, going through the items in the box. “Where did you get these?”

“Oh, I got a job repairing some stuff in this house – anyway, they’re getting rid of all this stuff.”

“Thank you, Mike. It’s perfect.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up as he smiled tenderly at her while nervously sliding his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Once she finally looked up from the box to find him staring at her, which he had been doing significantly more lately, she couldn’t help but return the smile until he forced himself to look away, mumbling something about needing to head back to work before rushing out the door.

“Well, that was pathetic.”

“It’s always been like this. For an entire week.”

“It was like that, too, _before_.”

The owner of the antique shop stopped going through some objects to look up at her friend, who was back at sipping from her cup of coffee whilst she checked their mail.

“…except, back then, you were the oblivious one. At least for a while.” She continued, and her lips twitched up in a small, cautious smile.

“I fear he’ll take longer than I did to realise.”

“That’s up to you, sweetheart.” Lydia scoffed at that, shaking her head slightly whilst her attention drifted back to the box. “I’m serious. I understand none of this is easy, but something has got to help him remember – whatever it may be. Maybe reliving your old memories?”

“You mean, you want me to experience things I only experienced with my husband, with a man that my husband’s spirit controls?”

“Yes…sort of. You made it sound a lot worse than I meant to.”

“I just – it feels like cheating.” She mumbled quietly, giving a half-shrug. “I don’t expect you to understand, but for over a decade, Stiles was all I had. The only man I truly loved, truly gave myself to. And I know that, in some way, everything that matters has gone to this strange, new man that barged in our lives. I _know_ it’s him. It’s _his_ soul, which is really all that is supposed to matter. But it’s not him yet. It’s not Stiles and – while it’s not Stiles, I just–”

“You feel like you’re betraying his memory.” Ally finished, causing her to nod slowly, not expecting her to have anything else to say. “But, sweetheart, you said it yourself, he has taken a huge risk without knowing the consequences. He jumped into the unknown for _you_ , for _your_ life together, unaware of what was going to do to you two. It could have completely destroyed you, your relationship, your every memory. Still, he tried. And it’s stupid, and in your world, it’s probably even wrong, but it’s something he did out of love which I know for a fact that you don’t exactly condemn him for. He only needs you to find him.”

“I know.”

“And even if that wasn’t the case, even if this hadn’t happened, if he hadn’t risked everything the two of you knew, you’d eventually have to give your heart a chance.”

“No! No–” A hollow chuckle escaped her lips, and she shook her head at the idea, turning her back to the dark-haired beauty as she went back to organising a few things, not wanting to show how unbelievably bothered she was by that scenario. “That’s not even an option. It wasn’t, _ever_ , going to be an option. It still isn’t – if for some reason he doesn’t remember me, _us_ , that’s not an option. Not to me.”

“Lydia–”

“We were trying to have a baby!” An eerie silence surrounded them after she blurted that out, and the second she twirled on her heels to face the woman again, those expressive brown eyes found her hazel ones, surely looking for truth in them.

It wasn’t at all that surprising that her friend was having a hard time believing, after so long of her wondering whether she wanted children. Frankly, her doubt had not only killed her husband slowly, it had also anguished their friends.

“I spent so long frightened at the idea, didn’t I? My grandmother had this gift, and for most of my life, I believed my mother didn’t. That gave me hope, maybe our children wouldn’t have to go through this, wouldn’t have to live with such a heavy weight on their shoulders, maybe it’d just skip another generation. And _then_ – then I found out that my mother had been lying to me all along.” She scoffed again, her lips curling in a bitter smile. “I don’t know why I was so surprised, she had been lying to me about the most important things in my life, but it still _hurt_ , so much. Especially because I couldn’t bear the thought of passing this damned thing on to our child.”

“Honey–”

“And I know, _I know_ that it isn’t always that bad, but having to live with this as a kid? God, it’s a nightmare. It gets even worse on our teenage years, and if someone less kind notices _anything_ out of the ordinary, it’s just – it’s the _worst_. And then, the mere thought of what I do, what I _am_ , putting a baby in danger–” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she exhaled quietly, slowly, trying to keep her emotions in check. “…I just couldn’t put him, or our child through that. So, I avoided the topic, delayed a definitive decision, until I stopped, fully took my husband in and thought of _everything_ he has done for me, for everyone.”

She paused, letting a warm, nostalgic smile grace her lips whilst memories of unbelievably great things Stiles had done in his line of work, and even on a daily basis, long before he became a detective, filled her mind.

“How could I deprive the world of another someone like Stiles Stilinski? It occurred to me that it didn’t matter what I was, what I had to deal with. My gift didn’t matter, the people, things that tormented me didn’t matter – what mattered was the simple thought of having a mini Stiles. Can you imagine how that would be? Someone so gracious, so pure, so loving, so incredibly forgiving – how could I _not_ want that? And all my fears, all that negativity just _faded_ , and we were _trying_ , and then he _died_.” Her voice broke on that last word, and in a blink of an eye, the brunette was standing in front of her, gathering her in her arms as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I allowed myself to want just a tiny bit more, and I lost everything that I already had. He’s _gone_ , Ally, and although he’s there, he’s not, and I’m just so scared he won’t remember.”

“He will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do.” She pulled away and cupped the woman’s cheeks, soothingly running her thumbs across her wet, smooth skin. “Because it’s Stiles, and he’d do everything just to be with you. And the hardest thing he would ever have to do is already done, Lyds, all he has to do now is remember. And how hard can it be, remembering _you_?”

 

 

...

 

 

It was foolish, he thought. Taking that well at the house he currently had a job at as anything more than a mere object of hope. But still, upon learning that people often made their wishes by it, he couldn’t help but do it, too. It had been there for so long, no one even thought about getting rid of it, not even the new owner, the one he was working for whilst he couldn’t remember what he did for a living before the accident. And so, maybe, acting on his faith wasn’t so foolish after all, was it?

He had tried so many things at that point. Talking to his family, his sister who he was supposedly so close to, going through his things in hopes it’d bring something back, doing things he, accordingly to his parents, did before losing his memory, and nothing had helped.

A wish was the only thing he hadn’t tried. And trying couldn’t hurt.

Yet what he hadn’t expected, as he carried a wooden door out of the house with the help of one of the other workers, was that it’d come to him in full force. Things he was pretty sure he was not supposed to remember either.

As they placed down the door, he looked up at other men that left the house carrying practically new furniture, eyeing the male next to him afterwards as he spoke, effectively stealing his attention from them, “It’s still good, why are they tossing it?”

“The contractor wants new things–” Before he was done talking, a blinding light caught him off guard, and his hand shot up to the side of his head where it began to throb.

A loud, and piercing sound filled his ears, followed by glass shattering, and images of a random male holding a gun that was supposedly pointed at him flashed across his mind, before a similar noise to a gunshot pulled him out of his haze.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, it backfired.” He was confused, and _terrified_. That answer didn’t soothe him, or change anything for him, not when that memory was still so fresh in his mind. Had he known that was what he’d be asking for, he probably would have prevented from making a wish.

“ _Twice_?”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, help me with this.”

“Yeah.” He crouched down and reached out to grab a piece of wood when an agonising pain shot through one of his shoulders, causing him to groan while trying to soothe the aching spot with his other hand.

“Mike, you okay?”

“Yeah–” He hummed distractedly, continuing to massage his shoulder, down to his chest. “…it’s nothing, I don’t think.”

 

 

...

 

 

Luckily – or maybe _not_ – it hadn’t taken long for Lydia to understand there was a ghost attached to the thing _everyone_ was oddly captivated by, at the house. Not wanting Mike to suspect anything, since she hadn’t been particularly subtle with her gift after so many years of not having to hide it, and he was clearly curious, even though he was gracious enough not to ask, she found herself forced to ask Isaac to go by the house, and eventually meet with the previous owners in order to find out what was happening or if, maybe, they knew anything _at all_.

Once they realised that a little girl had fallen into it after trying to grab her wish she had quickly regretted making, she didn’t waste time finding their family in hopes of clearing things up – which, per usual, wasn’t something she managed to get done easily.

What she hadn’t expected was for Mike to make a wish, as well.

Just thinking about the consequences, knowing what it could mean – it was killing her. And guilt had only started to torment her when he told her that the only thing he remembered was getting shot, which he was certain that it hadn’t happened since there was no scar to prove it.

That consequence – those terrible things that happened when _ghosts_ messed with people’s lives... she couldn’t stop thinking about how the angry spirit had only done that to torture him. How was that supposed to help? Because, so far, she knew that it wasn’t helping – he was either scared to find out more, or strongly believed the memories he was remembering weren’t his own.

“The brother isn’t picking up my calls.” Isaac’s voice pulled her out of her self-destructive thoughts, and she sighed, remembering, then, that the girl’s wish had been about her brother which then brought her to her doom. Attempting to grab a small paper where she had written her wish, from the well, was how she had been killed – one of her visions had told her that when she stepped too close to it and felt herself lose balance before falling into it, only being snapped out of it when Isaac had practically yelled out for her.

“So, you’re basically calling me to tell me you got nothing?”

“Basically, yes. But if the ghost is angry–” Her attention drifted to the kitchen door where she found Mike knocking, and she cleared her throat before interrupting her friend on the other side of the line.

“Yeah, well, we’ll figure something out. Thank you, Allison. Talk later?”

“What? Lydia? Lydia–” Hanging up before the male finished talking, she motioned for Mike to enter, swallowing thickly as he did whilst she put as much distance between them as she could, still fighting that terrible sense of guilt that filled her at the thought of causing him even more pain. Pain she wished to take more than anything.

“Morning.”

“Good morning, how are you, Mike?”

“I’m good, I’m good. This is, uh–” His eyes landed on the breakfast he was holding, before he rushed towards the kitchen island and placed it down in front of her, clearly not minding standing so close to her – then again, he wasn’t supposed to know about her guilt. “This is for you. I know you’re in a bit of a rush, I wanted to get this for you before you ate, or – didn’t. Just in case you’re late – you’re not late for work, are you?”

“No. No, this is really nice of you.”

“That’s – payback, I guess. For every nice thing you’ve been doing for me. I think I’ve been so focused on trying to remember my old life, that somehow, I’m forgetting how to live. So, I figured, cherishing the good things I have would be a nice way to go on, you know?” She nodded at his words and cut into the waffles in front of her, trying to ignore the small pang of regret she felt upon realising that he was probably trying to avoid remembering after the sudden, painful memory he was attacked with. “How is it? Good, bad?”

“Did you–” She finished chewing and swallowed, freezing completely as the taste refused to leave her mouth. “…did you use orange rinds in the waffles?”

“Uh, yes, I did!” He, then, began to tell her about all the ingredients, pausing when she didn’t say anything. _His heart paused for a second when he realised she was fighting tears and no longer touching the food_. “Wait, you’re not allergic to any of that, are you?”

“No! No, it’s just – something my husband did.” She whispered sadly, still holding back tears.

“I’m…sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shook her head quickly, smiling slightly when his gaze met hers. He was still remembering, bit by bit, and it wasn’t all bad – that, somehow, helped her with her guilt. “Really. It’s perfect. I’m sorry I keep bringing him up, it’s just–”

“How could you not? I mean… look, you can talk to me about him – about anything you want, really.”

“I couldn’t–”

“I mean it. Lydia, you’ve been doing everything for me. I’m still trying to figure out why, but the truth is that you still haven’t left my side. The least I can do is listen to you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled warmly up at him, not even realising tears had rolled down her cheeks until tender, shaky fingers were brushing them away. Unconsciously, she looked down at her feet, attempting to hide her reaction, and then frowned when he gently tilted her head back.

“Don’t hide.” He husked as his thumbs continued to rub soothing circles on her cheeks.

“Why?”

“Because I think you look really beautiful when you cry.”

A soft, beautiful laugh escaped her lips, even when the familiarity of the moment shared between them brought some sadness to her already broken heart. She nuzzled her cheek into his palm and allowed herself to smile when he leaned in closer to press a light, affectionate kiss to her forehead.

Things were so undeniably hard, she thought, only getting worse when the one memory she wished for him not to remember was the one that brought him a little closer to her. Yet, when she thought that it was only going to lead him to not want to remember, Stiles showed his presence. He fought even _harder_ to find his way back to her, even when he had already done so much that it was _her_ turn to do something – he was still the one stronger for them.

He had _always_ been the one stronger for them – one of her favourite things about him.

“Thank you for breakfast.”

“You didn’t even finish.”

“Maybe you can finish it with me?”

“What would that make me, if I refused some delicious waffles?”

_Stiles wouldn’t refuse them, either._

“Delicious, huh? Are you that full of yourself?”

“I’m not sure,” He shrugged, a teasing grin spreading across his features as he wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders and pulled her back to the kitchen island, burying his nose in her strawberry-blonde hair. “I don’t really remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so guilty!  
> I'm so sorry that it took me this long, it wasn't at all planned. I meant to update sooner, but life got in the way.   
> I know some of you are probably wondering if it'll be like this for a while, but I promise you - it won't! He'll remember her very soon ;)
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and being so patient with me. it means the world to me!


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